


The Templar and the Mage

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Series: Marked and Branded [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: Catherine arrival to Haven heralds many things, good and bad.





	The Templar and the Mage

The Templar and the Mage

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

Catherine had discovered she hated the cold. 

It was not that she had never been in cold before, but this sheer bone-chilling cold that cut through her every time a gust of wind flew over the wintry wasteland that surrounded them, she began to despise it more and more. It had been hard times since they had left the Crossroads, and even more so with suspicious glances from those that made a pilgrimage of sorts to Haven. Mages were the highest suspect for the explosion of the Conclave, and just having her staff mounted to her back made her guilt in their eyes. Or at least, a threat. It was times like these that she missed the other mages, back before all the power went to their heads and they became the very monsters they strove to fight against. 

Through the fault of few, all mages were branded as monsters. _As now were the Templars,_ Catherine thought, sadly. For some mages, that would have been a consolation, but not for her. If the best of them couldn’t overcome the stigma brought upon an entire group through the actions of a few, then the hate and misunderstandings would just be perpetuated. Something that could not be afforded with the sky nearly falling down on top of them. The Breach was even more terrifying now that it was so close, and she had much trouble sleeping. Though no demons had plagued her, her ward magic had been her secondary talent next to healing, Catherine still couldn’t find a restful slumber. Mother Giselle had been kind and caring, always looking out for the solitary mage in the group, and the voice of reason when a man had started spewing vulgarities and hatred towards her. 

She knew she wouldn’t have that voice of reason on her side forever. Mother Giselle would likely have her hands full with helping the Inquisition, meaning that Catherine would have to find her own reasonable and calm voice to counteract any opposition she would face. 

The village of Haven was just in sight when suddenly a deep howl cut through the wintery storm, and Catherine felt fear jolt powerful into her chest. She whipped around to see a pack of wolves, but their eyes were glowing red like blood. She felt it then, the taint of blood magic that made her recoil in horror and panic. “Go! Get to Haven!” Catherine ordered, a shimmering ward appearing between the group and the wolves. “I will hold them off as best I can! Send aid immediately!” 

“We will, child!” Mother Giselle promised, and the group rushed off. 

The wolves were attracted to fleeing prey and made to lunge, but a wall of ice conjured blocking their way. Catherine whimpered in the back of the throat when those eyes bore into hers, and she hobbled up a nearby stone as swiftly as she could. She cried out when one of the wolves grasped the edge of her cloak, attempting to pull her back down. She smashed the end of her staff through its skull, the blade sinking deep and pulled it free. She managed to get up on the rock, and her dark eyes stared fearful at the wolves that circled around. Whatever spell these beasts were under was one of the nasty ones she had ever felt, and her stomach twisted into a huge knot. She prayed that Mother Giselle and the others would send up soon. She had a feeling that the wolves were clever, and would eventually learn they could jump up on the rock easier than she had climbed it. 

Her heart pounded in her chest, the taste of fear burning her tongue and she conjured wards to keep the wolves at bay. She didn’t know what she was going to do, she was by far not a fighter, but she didn’t want to die, either. 

One of the wolves crouched down, preparing to lunge. White hot panic splintered down her spine when it leapt only to be struck down with a burst of lightning. Catherine jumped in shock, because that magic was not hers. Her eyes swung past the wolves to two figures that came down the path. One was huge, made completely of stone. It was a golem! And the other was an elderly woman dressed in the robes of a high enchanter, with a severe expression on her face as she held her staff up high. “Begone foul beast!” she ordered, a burst of magic came out of her like a wave. It knocked all the wolves about, but the beasts were not so easily ran off. 

One wolf dared to charge the golem, but was crushed beneath its mighty fist. Blood and brains spilt out across the snow, and Catherine averted her eyes. She placed a hand over her mouth, and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. The fight raged onward leaving most of the pack dead, and finally the others fled when the beasts seemed to realize they were outmatched. Still it was worrying that someone casted blood magic like that, but where was the caster? Surely, they had to be nearby to control the wolves. 

“Oh, look!” The golem sounded upset, looking down at the crystals adorning its right arm. “I think I chipped one of my crystals in that fight!” 

“I’ll see what we can do about it when we arrive in Haven,” the old woman reassured the golem, her pale green eyes flickered to Catherine. “For now, let us go greet the young lady we just saved. I imagine she drained herself quite a bit with those wards.” 

“Another mage? Lovely,” the golem snorted. 

“Shale, don’t be rude,” the elderly mage admonished, with a fondness in her tone even as she did so. “Young lady, I am Wynne former Senior Enchanter of the disbanded Ferelden Circle. This is the golem known as Shale.” 

“Wynne? Shale? Like the ones that helped the Hero of Ferelden?” Catherine asked, astounded. By all of the people that could have saved, she never expected to be saved by actual heroes. 

“No, I’m just the other sentient golem running around,” Shale mocked, dryly. 

“Shale,” Wynne sighed. 

“Fine. I will…try to be nice to the flesh bag,” Shale said, sounding rather sullen. 

“I’m Catherine,” Catherine introduced herself. “I was a mage at the Ostwick Circle.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Catherine,” Wynne smiled. Her face had been wizened by the years, but there was a clever gleam in her eyes that only a fool could miss. Her white hair was pinned out of her face by a bun, and her feminine features were proud and intelligent. “What were you doing out on the road by yourself, if you do not mind my asking?” 

“I was with a group when we were set on by those wolves,” Catherine explained, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. “I told the others to make it ahead, and send help.” 

“There were no soldiers with you?” Wynne asked. 

“There were, but they were protecting Mother Giselle,” the healer stated. 

The sound of horses came echoed up the path, and Catherine turned around to see four or five steads rushing up towards them. One of them coming right at her, and did not look like it intended to stop. Catherine threw herself into the nearby snow bank, sinking deep in order to dodge the horse that would have trampled over her. She vaguely heard shouting, and she struggled to get up out of the snow. With the way her cloak had wrapped around her ankles and the deepness of the snow, she felt trapped and let out an aggravated breath. It did not seem like today was her day, and then a shadow fell over her. 

“Are you alright, milady?” At the deep, commanding voice lacerated her insides, Catherine tentatively reached out to grasp the large hand of the golden haired warrior and as soon as her palm slid against his, it was like lightning. Not magical lightning because that would have been bad, but a different kind of lightning. The sensual kind that sizzled underneath her skin in all the right place, and she let out a gasp when he easily hauled her off the ground like she was as light as a feather. _Oh, sweet Maker, deliver me from temptation,_ she thought with the fiercest blush pooling in her cheeks as a stab of arousal hit her. 

She felt vaguely ashamed of the feelings brought on by this stranger—her knight in shining armor—because one she had been taught to be a lady. Ladies weren’t supposed to act like that, even if they did end up in the Circles. Books were a girl like her best friend to satisfy her vicariously, and truth be told, no one had ever capture her attention like this man had before. Sure, the Ostwick Circle had male mages, but most men—even mages—had an image of woman with long legs, sultry and goddess-like in those trashy copper novellas. Nothing like Catherine, at all. 

Her unblemished dark skin, wide dark eyes and full lips gave her a look that nothing like the noble princesses portrayed in books or fairy tales. And the reason this man lifting her up with such ease was such a big turn on was because she was bigger lady. Her hourglass frame was thicker than the norm, with substantial curves like a female dwarf’s though she was plenty tall enough. The fact this man made her feel so delicate was intoxicating on a level she had never experienced. The way his hand encapsulated hers completely and the calluses that brushed against her smooth skin was a feeling that was going to replay in her head for the foreseeable future. If she didn’t check herself right this very moment, her libido would have her salivating in a manner that would have her Lady mother appalled and would have made her father threaten to shove her into the Chantry despite her mage status. 

She guessed his age around mid-thirties, and his chiseled features made him looked like a fairytale knight come to life. If she had been a lesser woman with lesser manners, she would have swooned at his feet and asked him to let her have his babies. _No names needed. You can be daddy, and I’ll be mommy, so let’s make a baby,_ Catherine bit back a giggle, and decided that she would avoid ale in the near future no matter how much it lent warmth to combat the cold of the mountain. 

“Milady?” He inquired, concerned. 

“I, oh, yes,” Catherine stumbled over her own tongue. 

Her prince charming looked her over, his eyes lingered a bit longer than was appropriate which made her all the more flustered for it, and then his own cheeks turned pink as he realized this himself. He cleared his throat, and turned on the man who nearly ran her over with his horse. “Jim! Do you know how to watch where you are going?” He barked out, displeasure etched into every feature. “I thought you knew how to ride.” 

“I do, sir,” the Inquisition scout named Jim looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle and die. 

“Obviously not well enough,” the blond man declared. 

Catherine picked up her staff from where it fell, and she could feel the feeling in the air change slightly. She looked up and met the eyes of the man who pulled her out of the snow, and she could see the slightest change on his face. “You’re a mage?” He said, a tone of caution to his voice. 

“Yes,” Catherine swallowed. “I’m a healer. From the Ostwick Circle.” 

“Yes, now I remember. You are Catherine Trevelyan,” he said, the slight tension easing out of his features. “I’m Commander Cullen Rutherford. Lady Cassandra sent word that you would arrive with Mother Giselle. The scouts did not mention that you weren’t with the party, and were still out here in harm’s way—only that there was a vicious pact of wolves.” 

“I’m sure they forgot in the rush of panic,” Catherine said, softly. She felt slightly mortified that the man she had been ogling was the Commander of the Inquisition, and her cheeks were flaming hot with embarrassment. 

“Scouts are meant to relay accurate information, especially if an innocent is in danger,” Commander Rutherford stated, not willing to let the matter slide. He looked very displeased that the scouts omitted the fact that Catherine was not with the group. “I assure that the Inquisition does not condone such petty actions.” 

“It’s fine,” Catherine said, not wanting anyone to get into trouble of what was likely an innocent error. “Wynne and Shale showed up just in time so everything turned out perfectly fine.” 

“Wynne and Shal…” The Commander’s eyes turned to the two others and widened just a fraction. There was shadow that crossed his face, a flicker of torment when his gaze fell on Wynne as if he remembered something horrid before his face became a stoic mask. “Lady Leliana will be pleased to see you.” 

“And we will be pleased to see her as well,” Wynne said, perfectly pleasant. 

Yet there was an undercurrent in the air. Not loathing or bad blood, but something painful. Catherine wasn’t sure what it was about, but did not feel that it was her place to speak of it. Instead, she pulled her cowl up and wrapped her cloak around her shivering form. Her teeth chattered so loudly it redrew the Commander’s attention to her, and he said, “Maker’s breath, you must be cold and exhausted after your journey and here I am…well, let’s get you all to Haven, shall we? There shall be plenty of stew and warm fires to chase the cold away.” 

* * *

The town of Haven was charming enough, Catherine supposed. 

The War Room was significantly less so. She had been brought there to face some sort of “inspection” and the naughty part of her wished that it was the Commander that would be inspecting the goods. Instead, it was the Commander, Ambassador Montilyet, and the terrifying spymaster Lady Leliana. The Left Hand of the Divine looked like she could flay a person’s soul with those violet eyes alone. She was questioned endlessly about why she left the Rebel Mages, and what her intentions had been afterwards. After a while, Catherine could feel the change in the Spymaster as if she was finally convinced that the mage was not here to do harm. “Now, what can you tell me about your encounter with the wolves just outside town?” the Spymaster questioned, hands folded behind her back. 

“It was blood magic,” Catherine said, nervously. 

“And how would a healer recognize blood magic?” The Commander asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. There was something that hardened in his eyes at the words “blood magic”, and it made Catherine feel even more nervous. 

“There…there was a mage by the name of Leon in the Ostwick Circle. He did some horrible things, and a few of us were caught in the madness of it. It happened years ago, but that evil feeling that came off of him?” Catherine said, with a slight hitch in her voice. “That was the same feeling I got around those wolves.” 

Commander Cullen and the Spymaster shared a grim glance, as if what she said had confirmed something for them. Before she could ask about it, the Ambassador stole her attention. “You have been through quite the ordeal,” Josephine said, softly. “We have set up accommodations for you in the cabin closest to the healing tents. I will have a warm meal brought to you while you get ready for a good night’s rest. In the morning, we can go over your duty’s a head healer.” 

“What?” Catherine gaped. “Head healer? I don’t understand.” 

“Lady Cassandra gave you a glowing recommendation,” Commander Cullen said, with a hint of a smile on his lips that chased the shadows on the planes of his face away. “She seems to think that you would be a good fit to take over the healer’s duties here in Haven.” 

Leliana said, with a hint of a smile on her lips. “The Inquisition needs a qualified healer that knows more than prayers and bandages. The chantry sisters do their best, but they cannot do what your hands would be capable of,” the spymaster said, a slight tilt to her head. “If the idea is so repulsive to you, I assure you we can find another place for you here in Haven.” 

“It’s not that,” Catherine shook her head. “I just don’t like to be handed things. I would prefer to have earned this, not to just show up and be given it.” 

“While I appreciate your candor and your morals,” Leliana spoke, crossing her arms over her chest. “We cannot simply wait for a healer to earn this position. It has to be filled, and there are precious few with abilities as yours that would willingly ally with the Inquisition as of right now.” 

“How about a compromise?” Josephine suggested, with a half-smile. “Become our healer for now, and later down the line when we are able to procure another to take your place, you may vacate or keep the position at your own discretions.” 

Catherine chewed on her lower lip, thinking it over. “I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“Good,” Commander Cullen nodded. “Then the matter is settled?” 

“For now,” Catherine said. 

“Commander, would you please show Lady Treyvalan to her quarters?” 

“Me?” The Commander said, loudly. His eyes then darted to Catherine’s, and he looked away almost like he was flustered. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I suppose that there would be no trouble in escorting the lady to her new abode.” 

Catherine felt her heart flutter inside of her chest. It seemed the Maker was out to torment her with his presence. Perhaps, if she had been more a devout follower of the faith this wouldn’t have happened. Cullen rounded the table, and then offered his arm for her to hold like a proper gentlemen. She took it without thinking, the ingrain manners of the court as a child still held tight even after all these years. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said, demurely. They left the War Room, making their way down the aisle and passed Wynne and Shale who stood at the entrance of the Chantry. Shale was bemoaning the fact that he was surrounded by “fleshies” who didn’t have an ounce of common sense, while Wynne was using her magics to fix the chips in the golem’s crystals. “You did not have to do so. I could have easily found my way with some directions.” 

“It is my pleasure, milady,” Commander Cullen said, his spine ramrod straight and his eyes focused on what was in front of him. “Besides, it allows me to address something that I feel needs to discussed.” 

“Oh?” Catherine looked up at him, curiously. 

“As you know that I am the Commander of the Inquisition, but I am also in charge of the Templars because I used to be one,” he divulged, on one breath. 

Catherine felt her blood instantly run cold. Her eyes widened, her entire body went ridged before she could help herself, and she could watched him turn slightly away from her. Her dark brown eyes were fixated on his profile, and tried to control the sudden urge to flee. “I see,” she stated, proud that her voice was more steady than she felt. 

“I—I did not tell you that to frighten you,” the Commander sighed, heavily. “I just wanted you to know so if any Templars gave you a hassle then you know whom to report them, too. As much as the Inquisition is striving to keep the peace between the two fractions, there is still tension that remains especially with the event that occurred at the Conclave so unclear.” 

Catherine supposed she could understand that. Still, with her previous experience with Templars, she couldn’t help but look upon the Commander more wary now. Perhaps that was unfair of her since he seemed to be a good man and quite accommodating to a strange mage such as herself. She struggled to find something to say when a voice cut across the small village, “Catherine!” 

The mage turned, her eyes widened and a smile a joy graced her lips. “Marco!” She cried out, seconds before she was enveloped in a tight hug by her brother. Her heart swelled up inside of her chest, emotions too great to name flooded through her. She hadn’t seen him in so long. She had been sent off to the Circle as a child, and while the Ostwick Circle allowed family to visit, it was still frowned upon. It had been nearly nine years since she last saw her brother. “I can’t believe you are here!” 

“Dear Maker,” Marco breathed out, pulling away from the embrace. His eyes were glassy and he stared down at Catherine like he could believe she was actually here. “You have grown up so much since I have last saw you.” 

“I take it that you will be able to escort your sister safely to her quarters from here, Knight Trevelyan?” Commander Cullen asked, a small smile on his lips as he watched the siblings reunited. There was a small sadness in his gaze that Catherine noted, something akin to nostalgia and wistfulness. It made the mage wonder if perhaps he had his own family, and was thinking about them. 

“Of course, Commander,” Marco nodded his head, a professionally politeness settled over his face when he realized that Cullen was there. “Thank you for escorting thus far.” 

The Commander dipped his head, hesitated for the tiniest of interval before he bid them a good evening and marched away. Catherine watched him, almost compelled to do so and only came to her senses when Marco laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“Come on, let me treat you to something at the tavern. We can catch up,” Marco offered, his tone soft and with a half-smile. “I want know about everything you’ve been up to since the last time we spoke and saw each other.” 

Catherine grinned. “That sounds wonderful, brother.” 

It was a brief walk to the tavern, and the siblings settled into a table with Flissa bringing them drinks and some nug stew that was the popular choice of food, with some bread and cheese. “Catherine, I would like to introduce you to Mahanon,” Marco gestured to the shy and mild-mannered elf that sat with them. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mahanon,” Catherine greeted him, with a polite smile. 

Mahanon inclined his head. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Ever since the letter arrived stating you would be arriving with Mother Giselle, your brother has been beside himself. Hasn’t been able to focus on anything other than your arrival,” the elf divulged, with a small chuckle. 

“Traitor,” Marco declared, mock affronted. 

Mahanon gave a light shrug in reply. 

“How did you two meet?” Catherine asked, curiously. 

“Marco has been assigned to guard me because the Chantry was raising a fuss about, particularly Chancellor Roderick who feels the need to complain more than any other shem I have ever met,” Mahanon commented, wryly. “I had a…” His gaze flickered downward, his expression became a bit guarded. “I had an unfortunate brush with a demon of despair and now here we are. Helps that Marco is a decent fellow though.” 

“Aw, shucks,” Marco snorted into his drink. “Thank you for such glowing praise.” 

“I don’t understand. Many people have terrible encounters with demons. It is an unfortunate by product of the world we live in, even more so considering the ramifications of the Breach and rifts,” Catherine said, utterly bemused. 

“The Chantry is looking for any way to discredit the Inquisition,” Marco replied, stirring his wooden spoon through his bowl stew looking for the chunks of meat. Catherine knew that was his favorite part, and was glad to see while time had changed many things, he still had some of the same quirks that she remembered so fondly. “They can’t outright attack the Herald, or claim she was complicit in the explosion at the Conclave—” 

“Yet,” Mahanon corrected, with an eyebrow arched. “With an elf as the Herald? Only a matter of time.” 

“—so they look for other ways to try and dismantle what we are trying to build here,” the Templar continued onward, only pausing for the briefest of moments to send Mahanon an amused glance. His back straightened, a little smile curled on his lips when he saw a dark haired female Templar approach their table. “Lysette, there you are.” 

Lysette smiled at him, before she leaned down to press a chaste kiss against his lips. Catherine blinked surprised watching Marco practically melt underneath Lysette’s kiss and she watched with growing glee her brother’s cheeks turn red from embarrassment. Her brother cleared his throat when the kiss ended, and introduced his lady love to her. “Lysette, you remember I told you about my sister Catherine?” 

Lysette nodded. “This is her? I heard a mage created quite a stir, battling with wolves.” 

“Running is more like it,” Catherine said, with a light laughter. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lysette. I looked forward to knowing more about the woman who tamed my wild brother and made him docile like a kitten.” 

“I am not kitten!” Marco gaped. 

“Of course not, dear,” Lysette smirked, patting him on his shoulder in a patronizingly way. “It is wonderful to meet the sister that Marco always spoke so fondly off. He had been worried about you, given what has happened with the Circles disbanding and the war that followed.” 

“I wish that I could say that was a needlessly worry, but given things how they are,” Catherine stated, with a sad frown on her lips. She was grateful that her brother was alive when so many others had lost so much, and happy that she was relatively safe in these walls of Haven. She had spent so much of her time, worried about what troubles the next day would bring that it finally felt like she could take a moment to breathe once again. “I can only count my blessings that the Herald and her group came to my aid when she did and saved my life. If it were not her assistance then I would not be here, at all.” 

“You are not the only one,” Mahanon said, with a small smile. “She saved my life, too.” 

“She’s saved many lives. It is almost enough to make you believe it, isn’t it?” Marco contemplated, wrapping his arm around Lysette’s waist as his love raked her fingers tenderly through his hair. “That she was sent to us in our darkest hour to save us from the horror in the sky.” 

Catherine understood what he meant. It seemed like only divine intervention could have a hand in such strange events as the ones that had happened. How else could somehow hold back the tear in the sky and keep the world from collapsing underneath a hoard of demons? And the ability to seal rifts as well was extraordinary. If Catherine had not witnessed it with her own two eyes, she would have not believed it. There was something to this Herald of Andraste, and it was something that Thedas needed now more than ever. 

Looking around the tavern, Catherine saw the people from different races and background all brought together under the Inquisition’s goal and she wondered how many of them had been drawn in by the Herald’s deeds. A couple of scouts passed by and she heard whispers of the Herald being attacked by Carta assassins, but the noisy scout was silenced with a sharp slap to the back of his head, and the group wandered out of the tavern. Catherine supposed that it shouldn’t be surprising that the Inquisition would attract opposition. Anyone who stood up to change the world, no matter how small it could be, would always be met with some level of fear and distrust. She gnawed on her lower lip and hope that Echo and the rest were alright. She owed them a lot, and would pay it tenfold back given the chance. 

Catherine looked down into her tankard of ale. “Have…have you heard from Maxwell?” 

The genial mood that surrounded Marco immediately soured. “No, and I hope that we do not.” 

“Maxwell?” Lysette asked, confused. 

Marco’s lips twisted in distaste. “Our eldest brother, and let’s leave it at that.” 

Catherine nodded, uneasily. She was glad that she was with the Inquisition now, and that she didn’t have to contemplate going to Maxwell for aid. It would have been selling her soul to a demon. Maybe even worse than that, and she chewed thoughtfully on a bite of bread. She pushed the cloud of unease that circled off her away, and focused on the joy of being reunited with her brother and being safely away from the war. If her thoughts occasionally strayed to a certain blond commander, she held such thoughts close to her heart for only her to know. 

* * *

Cullen entered his tent, and sank down at chair in front of his desk. The only light came from the moon that pooled into the shadows from the flap at the entrance of the tent, and he dropped his head into his hands. What had possessed him today? When he had pulled Catherine Treyvelen out of the snow, he had been struck dumb by the sight of her. Her beautiful dark skin that reminded him delectable handmade chocolates were sold at the shops in Orlais, and those wide honeyed eyes framed by thick, black lashes that gave him that look of awe. Her generous mouth was the thing that haunted men’s dreams, and her body was thick and curvaceous. He had lost himself for a moment, allowing his eyes to linger on her for far too long and had to tear them away before he was accused of taking liberties. It had been quite a time since he or his body had acknowledge an attraction to the fairer sex, and he had been shaken by the revelation, hurrying them up to Haven quickly. 

In the War Room, he could not hide though. He knew Leliana and Josephine saw—and likely counted—how many times his eyes strayed to the new woman. If her beauty wasn’t already enough, she proved that she had a brave and loyal heart. When he heard the version of events where she had faced down the wolves to allow Mother Giselle and her group to get to Haven, he felt his heart clench in his chest uneasily. 

Where was the harm in getting to know Catherine? They would be colleagues, after all. 

But he had seen the fear in her eyes when he told her he had been a Templar. He saw how quickly she ran away with her brother—ironically also a Templar, but someone she knew would never hurt her. Not like a strange Templar man that she had barely known for hours. Whatever silly hopes he had indulged for that fleeting moment were pointless, and Cullen felt pain throb through his skull. Maybe he was just not meant to have any joys in his life. Every time he thought that he could have something to hold onto, the Maker seemed determined to prove him wrong. He shook his head, going through his paper. It was for the best, probably. He had to put the Inquisition first, not flights of fancy. 

It was probably for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Catherine and Cullen are going to be a joy to write for. Please understand that the romance for Cullen/Catherine, Varric/Cassandra, Mahanon/Dorian aren’t going to be separate from the main story. That all the storylines (the mysterious blood magic going on in Haven since “Marked”, Marco and Lysette’s relationship that was hinted at in “Marked”, Mahanon and Catherine’s stories) will be an integrate into “Through the Ashes We Climb” soon, however, there wasn’t a good place for me to put this in “Through the Ashes We Climb” that wouldn’t have felt odd to me personally. This is the only reason it’s attached as a one shot, but it is cannon! Also expect the trio that is Mahanon, Marco and Catherine to be showing up in Through the Ashes We Climb soon. :D


End file.
